


Flirting

by raiyana



Series: The Reader Inserts [23]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bad puns as courtship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Tumblr: ImaginexHobbit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 23:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Imagine it being so cold that you and Bofur have to strip down to your skivvies and cuddle in a sleeping bag for warmth. Submitted by @twinsinanarchyImagine Bofur giving you a bad pick up line ‘I moustache you to be mine’ which makes you blush since you are in love with him.Imagine Bofur always pretending to oversleep in the mornings because he knows it’ll be you who’ll try to wake him and he wants you to be the first thing he sees. @antivanilla





	Flirting

**Author's Note:**

> You are Geisli, the barmaid at the Woolly Bear in Ered Luin. This is what happened when you decided to leave your job for the uncertainty of the Wilds after one too many drunk proposals from patrons.
> 
> In Dwelf-verse, Geisli the barmaid appears in the Nori&Bofur chapters of Leaving home.

Bofur was a flirt, the whole mountain range knew it. I knew it too, having seen him hitting on anyone and everyone when he was in his cups. Even when he wasn’t, he was a charmer, always a song in his heart and a joke – oft-times ribald – on his lips. _Mahal’s beard,_ he was charming enough to get away with wearing such ridiculous headwear!

Watching him strut his stuff on the odd stone plinth in the Elven courtyard made me laugh, reminded of many nights at the inn spent listening to Bofur trying out new verses and songs he had created. Jofur, the owner of the Woolly Bear and a distant cousin of Bofur himself, never paid for decent minstrels or bards, meaning people like Bofur were a Mahal-sent gift, if only for the power to make the would-be musicians put down their tortured instruments. As I’d serve him the ales ordered by the thankful patrons – my ears were not the only ones grateful for a break from Bragi’s viol, for instance – he’d often tried to charm me; calling me a ‘fair goddess of golden ale’ once, and other such inanities. It was all in good fun, and I’d give as good as I got, as I do with all the patrons who think a few tankards make them poets and romantics – usually towards whomever was pouring their next drink. Over the course of the Quest, however, I had come to see a different side of jovial Bofur. He was _kind_ , incredibly so. Sadly, he masked his genuine heart with rakish charm and sparkling wit that often went unappreciated by the Company, but I had seen it, in small moments, showing me a Dwarf who was _more_ than the boisterous miner he appeared.

Bofur had personally introduced me to his brother and cousin, carefully warning me not to be scared of Bifur’s random outbursts, and I had watched the way he would sit with him, having a conversation with only their hands. In truth, I was coming to realise that I was quickly falling for this Bofur, the one who wasn’t only ale-influenced lines and bad poetry.

Of course, he wasn’t all gold and mithril, I had to admit. There was his terrible habit of oversleeping, which I had taken upon myself to try to ameliorate, keeping Bofur from feeling the brunt of Thorin’s temper. When I woke him, he’d always jokingly refer to me as his ‘Golden Dawn’. Bombur had simply sighed, shaking his head in that fond exasperation so common to older siblings and Bifur had actually laughed at me when I asked them why Bofur slept so much more poorly than the rest of us seemed to do. He had signed something I understood as ‘Don’t worry’ but my miner’s cant Iglishmêk was rusty at best, so I wasn’t entirely certain of the translation. Don’t even get me started on the _hat_ either; I’d damn near fallen over with laughter when I saw how large the thing was. Bofur had always had habit of wearing hats, but the one he had made – or purchased? – for the quest was more eye-catching than usual.

 

As the lads splashed around in the fountain, I stuck to my seat on the edge, splashing water on whomever was closest, to the great amusement of all concerned. The Elves might not approve, but I found their antics amusing – not to mention worth a second and third appreciative glance – and again, my eyes kept being caught by Bofur and his wide grin. For once, he wasn’t wearing a hat, revealing a head of hair that looked almost silky… even before it got wet. I never found out why he suddenly stood before me, dripping wet and holding out his hand for mine, but I gave it to him, feeling slightly apprehensive that he’d pull me into the water and get my clothes wet. Instead, he bowed over my hand, looking up at me with eyes that sparkled with mischief.

“Oh, maiden of the fairest hair, keeper of the golden ale; she who makes me walk on air, I moustache you to be mine!” he proclaimed loudly, to great hoots of laughter. My cheeks heated. The moment dragged on too long, I knew, before I gathered my scattered thoughts enough to push him backwards into the water as expected. For a moment, had I truly wished he was… serious? Shaking my head, I got up, leaving the fountain behind. As I walked through the gardens, I tried to get a hold of myself; this was hardly the time or place to develop an infatuation! We were on a quest to regain Erebor, **_m’imnu Durin!_**

Thoroughly angry with myself and Bofur and whomever had set him up with his small prank idea, I paced angrily. I did not return to the courtyard where Thorin had insisted we make camp, instead asking a passing elf if there was a proper bedchamber still available. The bed was everything a bed could be, and I floated off into dreams quickly.

 

When I re-joined the Company in the morning, no one mentioned the incident, for which I was grateful. I’d reached a new resolve during my night away from all of them. No falling for anyone, and definitely no falling for a rake like Bofur or Nori, no matter how kind!

 

The mountains were cold and miserable. Gandalf had asked us to wait, but of course Thorin made us continue past the agreed point, possibly convinced that we could make it through the mountains all in one go? I didn’t know, I only knew that I was so tired I’d be willing to promise the wizard my first pebble if he’d magically put us on the other side of the treacherous mountain paths, preferably somewhere with a bed and someone to rub my feet. The storm was simply icing on the cake, to my mind, and while glaring at the back of Thorin’s dark head didn’t change our circumstances, it made me feel vaguely better. Bofur was somehow in front of me, but I focused only on my feet finding the next step of the path, slippery with rain and even more treacherous in the dark.

 

After a near-death experience, being soaked to the bone and shivering in a damp cave with no fire perhaps shouldn’t be so bad, but as I sat there, thoroughly miserable, I almost wished we were still scrambling to remain alive. At least, I hadn’t had time to feel cold then, over the heart-wrenching terror the stone-giants inspired.

“You’re shivering,” Bofur said quietly behind me. I hadn’t spoken to him since our last night in Rivendell and he seemed oddly subdued.

“I can’t get warm,” I admitted, trembling violently. “My clothes are soaked through, and I’m chilled to the bone.” I’d never hated being of Blacklock descent before, but my amad’s desert comfortable blood meant I’d never truly mastered the cold like my Longbeard adad. My teeth were chattering. At first, Bofur wrapped me in an extra blanket – his own, I thought – but it did nothing but make me clammier and colder.

“Get yer clothes off lad, along with hers and wrap you both in the blanket,” Óin called, making me glad the cave was so dark as to not reveal my blushing cheeks.

“That’s not nec-” I began, but Bofur was already stripping in front of me, sending me a calm smile as though he did that sort of thing often. I had to give up trying to help him undo my own laces, my fingers frozen stiff. Instead, Bofur undressed me, all the while smiling at me in a way that made such an act seem almost normal. I squeaked a protest when he picked me up, but he simply settled me on his lap, the blankets a warm cocoon around us, the heat of Bombur and Bifur sitting on either side of us as Bofur’s arms wrapped around my middle. He was careful not to let his hands wander, which I simultaneously appreciated and deplored, feeling a stirring of his interest against my arse.

“Lie back against me, kadzûna. Relax,” he whispered, coaxing me back until I was almost glued to his chest, my head lolling onto his shoulder. I thought I felt him kiss my forehead, but I couldn’t be sure.

I woke hours later, feeling warm and toasty. Bofur’s arms were still wrapped around me though he was now staring at Master Baggins who was obviously going to leave us. I got to my feet slowly, pulling my still damp clothes on and handing Bofur his own garments. We dressed silently, finished with the task before the small Hobbit had even made it to the cave opening. Wrapping the blanket back around me, Bofur gave me a nod and followed Master Baggins to the exit. Tiredly, I leaned against the cave wall, trying to catch another few hours of sleep.

I woke with a scream, falling through empty air. My last thought before I caught sight of our captors was the fact that my boots were still somewhere far above me.

 

Falling from a tree and landing on an Eagle cannot be recommended as a pastime. I was one of the first to fall, my last sight as I was shaken from the tree Bofur’s dear face, contorted in a wild snarl of anger and something I could only call fear. He screamed my name, reaching futilely for my hand, even as I reached for his, knowing I was too far gone to reach, but reaching all the same.

I knew the promise I had made in Rivendell was null and void. Closing my eyes, I smiled as I called up his face once more, smiling and happy, tenderly whispering in my ear.

 

Stumbling off the Eagle onto the large monolith the wizard called Carrock, I wasn’t surprised when Bofur caught me, gripping my arms tight enough I thought he might leave bruises but finding it difficult to care.

“Bofur,” I whispered, feeling laughter bubble up in my heart. Flicking his hat, I watched him try to gather enough words to say something, _anything_ , his mouth opening and closing rapidly as he stared at me.

Pulling him down, ridiculous hat and all, I slid my fingers into his dark hair, finding that it was even softer than it had looked, and pressed my lips hard against his, sighing happily when his arms wrapped tight around my trembling body. Bofur seemed frozen for a second, but then he kissed me back, almost lifting me off my bare feet. Laughing, he pressed kisses all over my face, neither of us caring about the whistles and calls from the Company.

“Mahal, lass, I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, when his mouth finally left my skin, pressing his forehead against mine with a soft sigh.

“Ah,” I grinned wickedly, making him look nervous for a second, “but I couldn’t leave you just yet; first, I moustache you to be mine!”


End file.
